


Lollipop

by meremennen



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Detective!Bellamy, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Humor, Medical Examiner!Clarke, detective!Raven
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-08-24 00:17:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8348800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meremennen/pseuds/meremennen
Summary: Bellamy Blake is a good detective. Ask anyone at the 13th Precinct, they will say the same: His success rate is pretty decent, his Captain is one of the best (if not the best) and he has an awesome partner he respects a lot. And, there’s also Clarke. Truth is, ending up in law enforcement was mostly by accident. He’d been content with his previous job at the club. Working with Lincoln had been easy - most days friendly, even fun. Then it all changed the day he met Detective Kane five years ago. If he’s honest, things were already set in motion the night before that when he’d spotted his baby sister in a parking Sedan, in a heated lip lock. Fate is a funny thing.





	

**Author's Note:**

> ** edited: 16th December 2017 **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember how Horatio Caine’s trademark is the sunglasses and the black shirt (in effing Miami)? Now, that’s the blue tee for Bellamy in this little AU, even if it is not explicitly stated. With that being said, all my knowledge of detectives/detective work is coming from _CSI (Las Vegas)_ , a few seasons of _CSI: Miami_ and _Castle_ and the hours of research I did online.
> 
> Enjoy!

Bellamy Blake is a good detective.

His success rate is pretty decent, 93.79% this past eight months alone. He's not one to brag about it, unlike his partner, but he still knows his worth.

Admitting as much, doesn't make him one of those smug, all-talk-but-no-action guys he disliked so much during his training at the academy.

But yeah, he wasn’t always like this optimistic about his life, or this level-headed for that matter. It took him a while to get there.

As a young adult, bringing up Octavia, his baby sister, had always come first. By the time she'd graduated from college, he was almost twenty-six with enough savings on his account from his various jobs to enrol college himself. In the end, though, meeting Marcus Kane was the one defining moment in his life that pushed him to even consider signing up for police academy.

Being a bouncer at _Grounders_ for years also played a big part in that. The job - mostly night shifts as a muscle - has kept his body in shape. His love for books and his perpetual yearning for learning something new has kept his mind sharp.

It still took him four years of hard work to become a detective. And maybe a little bit of luck.

Well, it had been pure luck that Lincoln was off work that night, even if technically, he had been the one who punched him in the face and broke his nose. In his defence, Lincoln should have known better and told him that he’d been seeing his sister _for months_.

He shouldn't have found out about his little sister's bulky, older boyfriend the way that he did: in the middle of a heated lip lock.

What a fateful summer night! When he decided to pick that book and walk through the back entrance of the club, instead of just taking the front door like everyone else on his day off. Imagine his surprise, finding Octavia in the arms of a stranger outside of _his_ workplace – what was he supposed to think??

Okay. So maybe the punch was not by accident but the fact that he'd left his favourite copy of _The Iliad_ in the break room of the club - was.

Again, in his defence, he didn't know it was Lincoln when he grabbed the creep out of the car by the collar and swung his fist first.

Well, yeah. Not that he wouldn't wish to punch Lincoln or _any_ other dude old enough to date his sister in the face, but technically, the thing with Lincoln _was_ an accident. Nonetheless, he wasn't in highschool anymore and at the age of twenty-seven he’d matured plenty and had a fairly good control over of his emotions.

He was clearly taken by surprise and acted on instinct.

(Spring of 2003: He'd learned his lesson after the Atom incident.)

The night after the parking lot fiasco had happened to be the same night that brought Detective Marcus Kane of the _13th_ into his life. Detective Kane had led an undercover operation of eighteen weeks which had all come to an end at his club. And the one Bellamy Blake, drop in bouncer of the night, had happened to play a pivotal role in the apprehension of the suspects.

His quick thinking and _being-on-top-of-things_ attitude earned him a stunning recommendation letter from Detective Kane (the future Captain Kane) and a mentor at the _13th Precinct_ a number of months later.

 

***

 

Today, at the age of thirty-two, here he is, arriving at the crime scene of his next case.

It’s a relatively cloudless, sunny April day in Arkadia. The temperature is not yet warm enough to drop his lightweight jacket, yet the sun is disturbingly vibrant.

He slides his sunglasses on as he steps out of his imperial blue, department issued Camaro. He presses the tiny car button on the remote and strides to the crouching figure at the base of the big sycamore tree in the middle of the park.

His eyes are sweeping the surroundings as he goes, one can never be cautious enough. Especially the ones working in law enforcement. It’s one of those habits they’d pound into their heads at their twenty-one weeks training at the academy. There are other habits he just picked up through the years.

Rule number one: Safety first.

In any case, he’s never, _never_ forgotten about the book. (Not since the infamous “chocolate cake” operation anyway, that had almost cost him his partner. And even then, it wasn’t exactly forgetting about it, but mentally shoving it far away.)

He spots the silver van of the medical examiner hardly fifty yards from his - parking under the shadows of a row of young junipers, its engine still running.

 _Hmmm_ , he hums, wondering who’s covering the death scene today.

The professional in question is nowhere to be seen and he wouldn’t mind either, but he has his preference, obviously. Even if that person has stormed into his life like the hurricane that often hits these shores. With all of her five and a half feet height, and know-it-all attitude. Things change. And he hopes that maybe…

 _… maybe it’s her_.

He sighs and unwraps the foil of the candy he stashed into his pocket that morning.

The sweets are one of the habits he’d picked up from Detective Kane when he was still a rookie under his wings, patrolling the streets in tight police officer uniform.

 

 

_“What’s in here,” Kane had said in their first week of patrol on their way to a 33, tapping a finger to his own temple, “can be the difference between life and death.”_

_Watching the slow, deliberate movement of Kane’s fingers – or maybe it was the calmness in his voice that made the memories of their dry, theoretical training from the academy rushing back to his mind._

 

> _The brain is dependent on sugar as its main fuel._
> 
> _Brain functions such as thinking, memory, and learning are closely linked to glucose levels and how efficiently the brain uses this fuel source._
> 
> _Glucose, a form of sugar, is the primary source of energy for every cell in the body. Because the brain is so rich in nerve cells, or neurons, it is the most energy-demanding organ, using one-half of all the sugar energy in the body._

 

_“Stay sharp, son,” is one life advice he’d heard from Kane and never forgotten. Before cutting off the engine and parking their patrol car on the curb, Kane offered a handful of gummy worms to him._

 

Bellamy is a few steps away from his partner when his eyes narrow on a bloody smudge on the victim’s shirt.

 _Possible cause of death_ , he mulls it over in his head, _must be the bullet wound on the victim’s sternum._

“Reyes,” he greets the brunette. ”What do we have here?”

Raven Reyes is one of the youngest detectives at the precinct. _The_ _youngest female_ detective in the past 52 years, to be precise, and his partner of two and half years.

She’s still in a weird crouching position, inspecting the body.  Half her body is hovering over it, with a deep frown edged between her eyebrows.

 _That damn brace_.

Months later and he’s still blaming himself.

_If only he’d gone by the book. Raven… No. If he’d gone by the book, Raven would be dead._

The brace is inconvenient, but Raven is, tough, he reasons, shaking his head.

He takes a deep breath. In and out.

 _And she would cut your balls off, if she knew you were dwelling on the past again_ , he mentally adds.

She doesn’t look up, but she lifts the victim’s tie with one of those plastic examination sticks they use on crime scenes. She fills him in as she continues to fiddle with the tie:

“Carl Emerson, thirty-five. According to his ID -” she points with two fingers at the dark leather wallet lying a few feet away on a green heap of grass. “- which, we still have to determine whether it’s real, or a fake.

“He’s wearing Armani and Hublot, and … some other brands I haven’t even heard of all suggests he’s of money, but – **You brought lollipops to a crime scene? Really?"** Raven asks suddenly.

That’s when he realises that she’s stopped poking with the plastic stick, and looking at him instead with a questioning look in her eyes. He doesn’t get to respond beyond cocking his head to the side and pursing his lips harder - his way of telling her to _mind your own business, Reyes._

“Hey, get away from my patient,” they hear her voice from a distance. _It’s Clarke_ , he acknowledges with a twitch of his mouth.

Her blonde hair is up in a messy bun, a medical kit in her hands, and a sunny smile blooming on her cheeks.

“Your patient is dead, Griffin,” he says, deadpan.

“Ha ha.”

Finally, she’s close enough that he can feel the heat of her.

He’d like to think it’s purely her physical proximity that his stomach feels pleasantly uneasy - but he can practically feel those crazy butterflies and their frenzy dance  - he knows it would be a lie.

“ _Detective Blake_. Raven,” Clarke nods as a way of greeting.

“Doctor Griffin,” he nods.

“I’m serious -”

“You’re always serious,” he mutters under his nose. He doesn’t mean to be fussy, it’s an instinct at this point. They don’t know how _not_ to be teasing. Period. It’s their normal.

“Comes with the job,” she tilts her head, just enough to lock eyes with him.

 _Her sky blue eyes are even bluer today if that’s possible_ , he silently wonders.

They hold their gazes, until Raven clears her throat and asks for _his_ help to get up.

Clarke soon takes her spot on the ground and gets to work.

 

***

 

All in all, cataloguing and bagging up evidence and preparing the body for transfer goes well.

Time flies so fast when Clarke is around. No exception. They chit-chat casually – about her asshole neighbor’s taste in music and about the last book he’s read. She knows that his sister’s away on a one-year boat trip, and she asks about her days and how things are going with Lincoln. He knows that her favourite colour is blue and he learns that she bought a new pillow quilt to her living room which is mainly ruled by blue accessories.

It feels like they broached a lot of topics, which is true, and yet, he somehow remembers everything. And he wants to know everything about her. That's what friends do, right? They listen.

Raven pops in with a comment, here and there.

The lollipop is long gone by the time he begrudgingly notices that Clarke is returning her tools into her kit box, rising to her feet.

“ _Detectives_ , see you around,” she waves them goodbye with her professional smile, turning away.

He furrows his brows and fixes his gaze on her retreating back and swaying hips.

It’s Raven’s mumbling which brings him back to reality.

“ _Oh my god_ ,” Raven huffs.

Clarke and her assistants have disappeared into the van, so he’s quite confident she is out of earshot by now, but. He wouldn’t put it beyond Raven to raise her voice here and there, accentuating on certain words.  Clarke is an intelligent woman. She could easily catch on to their conversation.

“You are nauseating, Blake. Both of you. Just ask her out on a date _already_ ,” she prompts with a pointed look, practically demanding.

A muscle in his jaw twitches.

“Yes, you heard me, _Detective_ ,” she affirms, pointing a finger in his direction to give further emphasis to her words. “Do me a favour and ask. Her. Out.”

“ _Hmph_ ,” he grunts. He’s pretty sure there’s a betting pool going on. Which, he admits, was fun to partake in when it was about… well, not about him. ”First Murphy and the DA, and now…” he sighs, deep.

“Right,” she snorts. “Let me ask you this. Out of our last ten assignments, how many times exactly was _Clarke_ our medical examiner on the crime scene? Or in the lab?”

 _Raven has a point._ He knows that the whole second floor of the precinct speculates and/or is vaguely aware of his budding crush on Clarke. (He loves to spend his coffee breaks in the lab. So what? He’s one of the few who is not weirded out by their equipments. She swings by his desk every other day dropping off a cookie or something sweet, too. She knows about his habit with sweets. They are friends now. _Friends_ enjoy spending time together.)

He scrunches his nose in an attempt to think harder, but Raven beats him to the point before he as much time to open his mouth.

“Ten. Ten out of ten, Blake.”

Raven shifts from one leg to the other and she carries on: “Iceman, who’s pretty interested in me, _by the way_ , voluntarily switched his shifts -- aligning _her_ time to _our_ cases because he can’t stand your puppy eyes anymore.”

She moves closer, bumping her hips into his. “Everyone’s betting _on you._ Seriously, it's not even a real bet anymore,” she says, without teasing. “Lemme tell you a secret. We are not betting on the _will they won’t they_ , anymore. _Oh no._ We are betting on the day. And FYA: the Captain is also on it.”

He is gawking at her. It’s …well, it's news. And well, he _knows_ Clarke likes him. And he likes her back. But he cannot help that gnawing feeling of uncertainty eating on his insides.

So what? He _is_ waiting for a more obvious sign.

 

***

 

They linger as the rest of the unit finishes the job and cleans up the place. He can faintly hear his name, then a rustle and the clicks of a camera and watches as their photographer documents the scene for one last time. It’s all standard routine, now that the body’s been moved.

Raven is on her way limping towards the tree line when he looks up and rushes to her in a few long strides.

“Hey, thanks … for that,” he nods back at the crime scene; they both know it’s not about the case. Silence lingers between them.

“You want a ride?” he finally offers.

“Nah, I’m parking down at the beach. Doc says I need the exercise,” she says, her mouth curved into a smile.

He acknowledges it with a small grunt but follows her tracks.

“I swear to god, I’m going to kick your butt, “ Raven calls over her shoulder.” And hard. You know, I still have my crutch.”

They reach her car, a bright red classic convertible she’s built from scraps, with a black raven decal on the front when she stops and adds with a soft voice. “I’m serious, _Bellamy_ . I _could_ make it hurt. Big time. You’d possibly need medical attention.”

He hears the click of the lock when Raven turns suddenly, facing him with a huge grin. The end of her pony tail hits him square in the face, making him spit out a few strands of hair that landed in his mouth. It’s not like it hasn’t happened before but it still catches him off guard every damn time. If he wouldn’t know better he’d think she was flirting with him. But they’d had their small affair before they’d been made partners and both agreed they worked better as friends.

“Although - “ she adds, her voice is picking up a speculative tone, “- nothing a medical examiner cannot treat.” She winks.

 _If only she’d keep that exceptionally cheery quality out of her tone_.

“Alright, alright,” he holds his hands up in surrender. “I got the message.”

The department’s monthly night out is in two days.

 _Maybe…_ He sighs and shakes his head.

 _Thursday,_ he sighs again, turning on his heels. But he cannot help mentally adding another _maybe,_ less sure this time, as he waves goodbye with a flick of a wrist and heads back down the road to his own car.

 

*************************************************************************

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 33 - is meant to stand for a petty shoplifting theft according to my research (but in some states only). I cannot really keep up with all the different dispatcher codes so please let’s pretend it is what it is. 
> 
> *** *
> 
> I do realize there's a follow-up potential in this one? In the next chapter (if there is a next chapter) we'll get a peek into that Thursday night. And if you have any questions (like: is anyone interested in who the DA is or maybe if Bellamy actually goes for it?) you can find me on tumblr.  
> Thanks for reading and any form of feedback ( **kudos** and/or **comments** ) would be nice. Thanks!


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